Sacrifice
by IsabellaImogen
Summary: Expansion of one of my favourite myths of all time-The story of Apollo's first love and loss, the nymph Daphne. What would you give up for love? For freedom? One-Shot.


**(Note that everything in italics is a flashback)**

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* * *

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Shade darkened the cool quiet of the green forest glade. Daphne knelt at the bubbling brook's side, cupping her hand under the clear, fast-flowing water. Ribbons of the icy current twined around her slim, tanned fingers, catching for a moment, like leaves in the wind, then coursed onward downstream towards the blue salt-sea and sandy river delta, miles away. In the still heat of midday, no birds sang, and the warmth of the sun overhead punched through the thick green canopy above, splaying beams of light in all directions. One pool of golden light fell on the back of Daphne's neck, where a riot of chocolate-brown curls was tied up with a strip of leather, baring her dry, dust-covered skin to what little bit of cooling breeze there may be. Beads of sweat clung to her face and neck, her tanned skin glowing in the hazy, dusty light.

Looking about her, Daphne reached back and loosed her hair from its braid. Laying down her bow and arrow, the weapons of the hunt, the nymph stood, raising her arms above her head, her fingers splayed wide. She leaned back, arching her spine, the pleasant ache in her muscles loosening a little. She dug her bare toes into the soft, warm earth by the stream bank. Hesitating only a moment longer, she caught the hem of her tunic, which hung just above her knees. Pulling her tunic over her head, she stepped into the stream and sighed as the cold water rushed to surround her feet. Stepping further over the smooth stones that rolled slowly over the riverbed, she made her way to the center of the current, and stood up to her hips in the fast-flowing stream. Cupping handfuls of the water, she rinsed the dust from her skin and hair, crouching to submerge her head underwater.

As she surfaced, she shook her head, water flying off in droplets, settling on her dark ringlets in silvery drops. Water held fast to her long lashes, and her head tilted back, her eyes still closed.

* * *

He strolled along the earthen path, yet his sandals seemed to gather no dust. His tunic shone white and gold in the noonday sun. His amber eyes glowed with a smudge of red fire in their depths, like wild honey or coals. His hair was a thick thatch of gold, and it seemed as though his darkly bronzed skin was covered in a fine gold dust. He did not feel the heat, and yet his flesh was hot to the touch, as though he was sculpted from burnished steel, rather than flesh, bone, muscle and sinew. The cool silence of the forest greeted him; and the leaves on the trees stirred upon the soundless wind, bending towards him as though they bowed in welcome and homage.

As he entered the green open space of the clearing, a flash of silver movement caught his eye, and he turned his head to look.

* * *

Daphne allowed the sun to dry her body, and then she reached for her robe, pulling the soft, cream-coloured wool fabric over her head. She eyed it in distaste, as streaks of dust marked the lightly woven cloth. A robe of animal skin, perhaps doe, would be much more suitable to her life as a huntress in these woods. The white robe had been a gift from her father, the river god, Peneus.

A smile curved her lips as she recalled the occasion.

_"Daphne, where is Briaros?"_

_"He left. Fled, actually," Daphne said with a shrug of her lovely shoulders. Her father scowled and tried to look disapproving as he thundered:_

_"First is was Kyrios, then Kronos, then that poor lad Gradalis—I'm great friends with his father, you know, who won't even speak to me now—then there was that rich young Ippolutos, and then Janus, he was as handsome as any I've ever seen! I buy you a lovely new tunic to wile them with! To what end? What, pray tell, was wrong with Briaros?"_

_"Did you see his nose? I couldn't bear exposing my children to the possibility of having a nose like that!" Daphne had responded flippantly._

_"Noses are of no consequence, in spite of yours happening to be one of the prettiest anywhere!" Peneus would remind her gently. "Am I never to have a grandson, noses notwithstanding?" He looked so truly woeful that Daphne could not resist flinging her arms about his neck and pleading with him to let her be. Placing a kiss upon his worried brow, she smiled into his eyes._

_"Father, dearest and most caring of fathers, permit me to be like Diana, the pure goddess of the hunt, content to live with no man beside me." Peneus would sigh and hum and haw, bit would ultimately allow himself to be persuaded, leaving Daphne to roam the woods as freely as she pleased._

She sat upon a rock, her weapons laid out near her sandals a short distance away. She began to comp out her hair, the dark, wet curls springing out stubbornly in every direction. She sang softly to herself as she worked out the tangles, the sun drying her tresses and bringing out the deep, rich hints of red that burned like fire. A glimpse of gold shone just out of her field of vision, and she looked up swiftly, her startled gray eyes meeting amber orbs that seemed to burn hotter and brighter than the noontime sun above. Her delicate comb, carved of ivory and deer horn, slipped from her frozen fingers, clattering against the rocks, shattering even as her song died on her lips.

* * *

Apollo approached the nymph carefully, silently, his sensual mouth curving in appreciation of her sweet voice as she sang out a simple melody. It was a song he himself had composed ages ago for his sister, Diana, that had made its way to the ears of the lesser gods, and now it seemed, nymphs. He allowed his gaze to roam over her form; taking in her dirty tunic and bare limbs; but it was her hair that held him.

A wild mass of curls, a dark brown that seemed to flow into forever, with hints of red that looked as if they would spark and feel hot were he to touch them. Her face was serenely beautiful, with a hard edge to it that denoted strength and fluid. Having tamed many a wild beast before, Apollo knew he must tread carefully here…but the longing he felt! This growing needs to take a hand and run it through those curls of silk and flame! To place just one kiss on her satin cheek, the colour of a pale rose bud, dusted with a dusky golden glow. To kiss that sweetly upturned nose of hers, or that wide and soft-looking mouth that bore the traces of a witty little smirk!

In the violence of his newfound passion, Apollo dropped the glamour that had rendered him invisible, even to nymph's eyes, and appeared before Daphne in an instant. Her song ceased as her eyes met his, and he barely saw the carefully crafted comb she held slip from her grip. The distinctly unmusical sound of it's teeth snapping and breaking jarred him enough to cause him to regain his control and caution. Already her eyes were fearful, searching about the clearing for an escape. The golden god held up a hand to detain her a moment.

"Stay, fair one, and simply allow me to look at you. Truly you are the fairest maid these eyes have seen, and it is a wonder to me that you should exist before my helpless eyes and even more helpless heart, which shall ever more be devoted to your worship, as shall the rest of my being, nymph."

"Wh-who are you? What do you want?" Daphne's voice shook, and she tensed, noting with dismay that her weapons and sandals still sat on the riverbank some feet away, too near to this golden stranger for her comfort.

"What is your name?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard her speak beyond soaking in the sound of her voice. "Or shall I have to give you a title, oh Nymph Divine? Sweetest and Fairest of Maids? Venus' Rival and Champion of the Graces? Or, the sweetest and best title of them all: My Own Dearest Love?" Daphne pales as he spoke and stood, half-turning from him.

"I do not know you, sir, and you cannot love me so. 'Tis foolishness that only the poets know and speak of," so saying, Daphne quickly stepped forward and made a mad clutch at her quiver full of flint-tipped arrows.

A strong hand grasped her wrist, and Daphne felt herself hauled up against the man. With a despairing cry, she twisted and fought his hold, but her wrapped his arms around her, trapping her against the hard muscles of his torso. Daphne's cheek was pressed against his chest, and she turned in the circle of his arms, but her struggles were just as futile as before. She faced the forest and cast out a pleading arm even as she saw her freedom vanishing into the shadows.

* * *

Apollo frowned a little as he held the maiden in his arms. He brushed his lips over her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of her the earth, trees, and flowers that lingered with her. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the softness of her skin. Even as she pushed at him, he tilted her head back and kissed her full red mouth, savouring the sweet taste of honey and spices. Cloves, he thought, and cinnamon. Warm, exotic, and devastatingly luscious. Daphne held utterly still as his mouth danced across her lips, her cheeks, her forehead. His eyes were closed, but she didn't take hers off him for a moment. His voice came, softer, lower, as he spoke huskily between kisses.

"Maid, if I did not love you already, I would now declare I did. Come, I shall take you to my house, which is very grand, and there you shall be fitted with gowns of every cloth, cut, and colour, though none shall become you half as well as your natural state. No cloth nor adornment made can add anything to your already exquisite radiance. And as for poetry, is it not natural that I, the master of all poets, should utter sweet words of love to you? You are the very prose and rhyme of love, and the reason poetry came into existence."

Daphne's fears mounted as he spoke, and as his hold on her relaxed, sure of his conquest, she swiftly ducked out of his passionate embrace and ran nimbly from the glade, darting along the shady paths, mottled by patches of sunlight.

* * *

Even as her bare feet pounded the earth and her heartbeat and ragged breathing sounded loud in her ears, over the rushing of the blood and wind as she ran, she heard the stranger's voice call after her as he gave chase:

"Do not fear me, sweet! Halt and know who I am! I am no crude shepherd or forest dweller! I am Apollo, the Lord of Delphi, and I love you!"

Daphne doubles her speed, and, being an excellent runner, she was able to outstrip Apollo. Her fear threatened to strangle her, its clammy, cloying fingers twisting around her throat in cold, slick coils, and she found she could not draw her breath easily. If Apollo was indeed following her, she knew her fate and tasted her own doom in the bile that rose in her throat. She was resolved to fight until the end, which she knew would come sooner rather than later.

* * *

Without looking behind her, she knew that the golden god gained on her every moment. Once, as she dared glance behind her, she saw his golden form rushing towards her through the forest. As she ran, she felt her strength fading. She bruised her foot on a sharp outcropping of rock along the path and cried out in pain, her pace slowing further. She saw light, and blue sky ahead on the path, and she ran wearily onward, the intense agony in her foot and leg increasing with every step. She could feel Apollo's breath upon the back of her neck, and she shuddered, blindly pushing onward through the dense greenery.

His hands were almost upon her as they burst forth from the woods, and Daphne saw a ribbon of silver winding across the meadow before her. Recognizing the course of water as her father's river, she opened her lips and her scream rose to the heavens.

"Father! Help me! Help me, Father!" Her voice broke on a sob, and her keening wail shot across the rushing waters like an arrow. Daphne slowed and stopped, her eyes closing as a great sleep seemed to overwhelm her.

* * *

Apollo's arms caught her as she crumbled, her pain running out of her, into the earth, it seemed. Daphne was vaguely aware of Apollo's touch, but more she felt her feet, which had previously been so swiftly flying over the earth, seem to sink into the warm soil of the meadow, and her body stiffened as she felt a thick casing cover her limbs. Her eyes opened at the last moment to stare into Apollo's shocked and grief-stricken gaze as breath ceased to pass her lips, once so warm and soft, now so cool and adamantine. He tried to stroke her hair, but the softly shining tresses turned to glossy green leaves under his palms and fingertips.

Tears began to stream from his eyes and course down his cheeks as the fair maid he loved was transformed, before his helpless eyes and breaking heart, into a tree—a laurel. Here was the one thing that could overthrow a god, topple an empire with sighs, fill a sea with tears and heave up a mountain with shudders and sobs: love. Daphne's graceful limbs no longer moved, but were locked and thrown towards the sky, a mass of slender twigs being the hands that he had held in his so short a time ago. He ran his hands over the trunk of the tree, as if in disbelief at this unthinkable yet horribly real end. As the reality of what had happened stole over him, the intensity of his grief and heartache hit him like a fist of stone, knocking the breath from his mortal body, and his god's soul was not spared from the intense pain of his denied ardor. There was no depth to his sorrow, for it was unfathomable, infinite and endless.

He kneeled in the dirt beside the tree, the most lauded god of light and music, laughter and poetry, brought down to earth and what felt like the depths of Hades, all for love spurned. Apollo rested his fevered forehead against the cool bark of the laurel's trunk. His heartbroken tears watered the fertile soil that held the tree, and his wordless cries of love and loss echoed over the far-distant hills.

"Sweetest and fairest of nymphs, you are forever lost to me, and I shall keep the memory of you in my heart until the end of time. Though generations waste away and die, the remembrance of you shall live forever." Apollo kissed the smooth green leaves and whispered to the tree, promising to remember always the first love of his heart. "You shall, at the very least, be my sacred tree. My champions shall wear your glorious leaves in a crown, wreathing their glorious brows with your splendor that outshines them all. I will give you a part in all my triumphs; and Apollo and his sacred laurel shall be together forever, through the ages of the universe. Wherever stories are told and songs are sung, you and I will be remembered, I in my devoted love, and you in your fair purity and sweetness. So sleep, my fairest of maids…I do not still know your name, so I cannot write a song or sonnet for you, but I will sing you to your rest and love you until the gods die and Olympus crumbles to the dust."

Apollo's song rose over the meadow, a low, sweet, sad lullaby, and the leaves of the laurel rustled in the wind, like a hushed whisper of comfort. Then, only as the sun set and the nighttime filled the bowl of the valley with mist and moonlight, did Apollo's song fade into the dying light, waning into silence and darkness, while the silver-green leaves of the laurel caressed his tearstained face, shrouding both in shadow and tranquillity.

* * *

So Time has stopped for some, while it continues for others, unaware of the moment when lives change forever. The world holds its breath in a hushed silence and stillness while the rhythms of the universe continue to swirl around them, and the pulse of the earth beats strong and steady under our heedless bodies and blind souls. Magic exists in that moment of exquisite madness, that eternal instant when love first creeps soundlessly into a young and tender heart, stealing breath, reason, discipline, restraint. All that mattered before ceases to exist and everything we never dreamed of takes precedence over life and death, for we care not for a life without love, and death is a far off and distant reality that seems as yet to be an illusion. Souls searching, separate from our earthly vessels, find, mesh, eclipse one another, shadows and light combining in perfect unity. For every breath drawn since the beginning of time, every grain of sand on the seashore, and every star in the sky, a heart has been lost, found, broken and mended. Though love can steal upon us in many forms, several times throughout our lives, we never forget the first instant of our mortal existence when at last all seemed put to rights as we found the one soul that could fill the rifts within our own. Such a love we saw here, and yet what if the love is not returned in equal measure? Shall the lover give up, and be crushed by the burden of bearing the full brunt of his love, while the beloved bears no punishment for her part in the tragedy? Can love change, and find a place, any place, where it may be welcomed by both the lover and the beloved? As a bird flies endlessly lost upon the wind, so shall the love sail through darkness and tempests to find at last a safe haven to make her nest. So shall we leave Apollo and Daphne, one to sacrifice love, the other, freedom, in order for them to find a level plain upon which each can stand, alone, yet together, for always.

_The End._

**Author's Note and Disclaimer: Some versions of the story say this is Greek in origin, that Daphne was the goddess of music and poetry, and that is was the earth goddesses who enacted her saving transformation. I'm basing this on Edith Hamilton's version from her "Mythology" book, with the Roman names and references to Daphne being a simple nymph, and that is was her father's powers that saved her. Although the Greeks may have adapted the story orally, the only ancient written version belongs to the Roman Ovid**.


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